Emeritus

Unrelentingly bleak and angry but not without its pop flourishes, the latest from the Houston MC solidifies his position as an elder statesman of hip-hop.

Seems like Scarface releases this kind of album every single year-- rarely less than great, overshadowed by more commercially promising records-- and then threatens to retire on it. Judging from the title of Emeritus, this time, he actually means business. But really, the main difference it has from its predecessors is that it could just as easily be titled Scarface Presents: Look Back in Anger. It's a record that settles scores, names names, and, after a career spent on exploring the moral complexity of the gangsta lifestyle, finally hands down something resembling judgment.

Of course, it's presented within the framework of typical Scarface themes. Paid dues are acknowledged, realness is recognized, punks get dealt with accordingly, and the only thing he takes lying down is his next fuck. In fact, the first seven minutes of Emeritus are spent with almost petty focus, updating you on what Lil' Troy has been up to since "Wanna Be a Baller"-- namely, talking to police and fucking up the money of Houston's realest. But the state of hip-hop is the least of Scarface's problems on Emeritus, as it's defined by an unrelentingly bleak outlook on just about everything. After Barack Obama's win in November, The Onion published an article entitled "Black Man Given Nation's Worst Job". The last verse on "Can't Get Right" becomes an extension of that, as Scarface explains that he didn't vote for Barack because he "loves him." Elsewhere, he sees so little worth living for in this world that, despite his deep religious beliefs, he'd rather his baby's mother have an abortion than to see another child suffer through a system that sets him up for for failure. "We ain't first class citizens/ And we ain't second either." Rap's coke kingpins have nothing on Pfizer and even the meanest block isn't as dangerous a place for a young black man as an army base.

Even physical pleasures are mostly done away with. "Who Are They" works with the same "everyone loves you when you're rich and famous" concept as Mike Jones' "Back Then", but entirely guts it of innocent charm and instead becomes an ugly airing of grudges that have become positively poisonous over the span of decades. Along with K-Rino and Slim Thug, Scarface takes a nearly ascetic tone, seeing strip clubs and the old neighborhood as places to revel in the failures of others as much as reminders of their own success. As such, it makes the sex jam "High Note" something of a rare misstep.

And yet, that Emeritus often seems more righteous than cynical or hopeless (the latter two are a bit soft) is a testament to Scarface strengthening his flow in age. He always sounded old before his time, but now, as he approaches 40, it's like his time has come. Mortality hangs heavy over Emeritus. Scarface laments "Analyzing all the wrong I've done/ I'm surprised I ain't dead/ I guess the good die young" while numbed by the frequency of funerals he's attending. As far as production, he rhymes over beats that might be a bit more lush and modern than Rap-A-Lot's known for (though the buzzing sawtooths of "High Powered" bring to mind Swizz Beatz' production on Noreaga's "Nahmeanuheard"), but it's a good look this time out. Don't forget that Scarface was something of an honorary member of Roc-A-Fella's roster during the two-year bubble before and after The Blueprint.

Emeritus is almost entirely bullshit free. No words wasted and outside a bit of we-the-best chest puffing with Lil Wayne ("call me by my new name... 'Featuring Lil' Wayne'") and Bun B ("we keep it crunk like Obama in Invesco") on the unrealistically titled "Forgot About Me". Nearly every track makes its point and moves forward, although there's plenty of seemingly redundant and occasionally trite code of the street moralizing. Still, if anyone deserves a victory lap, it's Scarface. And yet Emeritus is every bit in the right doing what feels like the complete opposite-- manifesting Bobby Knight's famous request that he be buried face down so all his detractors could kiss his ass.